


something there, something more

by boonki, sonderwalker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Anakin Skywalker, English Professor Obi-Wan, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Sickfic, its requited theyre just idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonki/pseuds/boonki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonderwalker/pseuds/sonderwalker
Summary: “I’ll see you next week?” Anakin asked as Obi-Wan turned to leave.“Only if you’re well enough to be back, otherwise I will not hesitate to have you go home, as much as I enjoy your company.”“You enjoy my company?” Anakin asked while sniffling several times.“Yes, and as much as I’d love to stay and talk, I can see that you’re shivering, and should probably be back in bed.” Obi-wan pointed out.“But can we talk later?” Anakin asked, his tone cautious but hopeful.“When you’re better, we can talk.” Obi-Wan replied, before turning to leave again, feeling the cold winter air contrast the burning of his cheeks.What was he thinking?____Anakin, Obi-wan's old student and something of a friend, is sick, and Obi-wan lends him his sweater and brings him cold medicine and soup. When Obi-wan gets snowed in at Anakin's apartment, there's a shift in their relationship, a tender step towards something brighter.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started from some fever prompts on tumblr! And then we...just kept writing. Oops. 
> 
> Big shout-out to sonderwalker/anemoia for inspiring me to be a better writer, and write more often. Not to be sappy on main, but it's been a joy so far~

Across Obi-wan’s weathered desk, Anakin shivers faintly, head turned down at his essay sprawled across the wood tabletop, where they had been editing his final thesis together, the sun long set. Rain drizzles down the windows to Obi-wan’s dim office, the  _ tip-tapping _ the only noise in the otherwise quiet building, all the other professors surely at home, eating dinner or settled in for the night with loved ones; Obi-wan would normally be nestled on the couch, book in hand by this hour, jazz floating through his apartment from his record player. 

But Anakin, his dearest ex-student, and nearly a friend, had raced into his office hours prior, panic lacing his features, reminiscent of four years ago when Anakin had been a freshman in his English 101 class, desperate for a hand with all of his papers. Obi-wan hadn’t minded, of course, when Anakin continued to pop by for help after their shared semester ended, two semesters turning into three, three turning into a full year, which turned into two, which turned into Anakin’s entire academic career. If he were being honest with himself, a rather rare occurrence, he would admit that he looked forward to the bright man’s visits; something always loosened in his chest at their easy conversations, shared laughter, and how minutes turned to hours like sand slipping between his fingers. 

“I think if we moved this paragraph here-” he takes his pen out front behind his ear, marks the paragraph he’s talking about and draws a large arrow “-then your argument would flow more logically, no?” Obi-wan muses, humming to himself in thought. 

He gets a noisy sniffle in response. Obi-wan snaps his attention up to Anakin, who is wiping his nose with his sleeve, hunched into himself, still shivering. Anakin must notice Obi-wan staring, because he looks up, blinking rapidly. “What?” 

Obi-wan cocks an eyebrow. “I said, if we move this,” he uses his pen to point to the paragraph, and flicks his gaze up to Anakin to make sure he follows, “here, then it would flow better given your thesis.” 

Anakin sneezes. 

“Are you alright?” Obi-wan asks, digging out his box of tissues from within a drawer in his desk, handing them over to Anakin with stern concern. 

Anakin seems to huddle even further into himself. “Is it cold in here?” 

Obi-wan takes in the man’s thin t-shirt, a loose zip up hoodie the only thing between him and the onslaught of rain outside, trying not to stare at the way it hangs over his broad shoulders, exposes his beautiful collarbones. It would make sense that Anakin would be cold, but even in a papery cotton button-down, Obi-wan is perfectly warm in his office, his incandescent lamp and slow burning candle creating more than a fair bit of heat. 

“No, I don’t think so. Here,” Obi-wan leans forward and holds up a hand to the air in front of Anakin’s forehead, retracting a bit when Anakin lurches backwards in surprise, “let me see if you have a fever.” 

Anakin cautiously moves into his palm, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, gaze never leaving Obi-wan’s face, pink tinging the edges of his ears when Obi-wan presses against him a bit, pushing back the bangs that dangle into his face. He  _ is _ running a bit hot. They make eye contact, and freeze for a few heartbeats, locked in place. Despite this being the most intimate thing he’s ever done with Anakin, given the rather academic nature of their relationship, Obi-wan doesn’t want to pull away; he wants to press his fingers further, straighten out the frizzy curls, card through the knots made by the rain, cup the back of his head and rub at the base of his neck- 

The thought catches Obi-wan by complete surprise, and he pulls away sharply, clearing his throat, purposefully disregarding the way Anakin’s eyes fall in disappointment. “You do seem to be running a fever. When is this due again?” He motions to the pile of papers between them. 

Anakin grimaces. “Tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow, right.” Obi-wan nods, dismayed but not shocked by Anakin’s lack of planning. “Well, in the meantime, here.” 

Anakin watches with guarded interest as Obi-wan pushes his chair back to rifle through his bag, pulling out a spare sweater he had saved for the bus ride home. It is one of his favorites: a deep forest green, cashmere. He wordlessly offers it to Anakin, eyebrows raised and pulled together, a look of  _ here, take it. _

“No, Obi-wan, I can’t-”

“Please put on the sweater.” He pulls out his teacher's voice to use this, using his authority for good. 

Anakin gingerly takes it from him, giving him a strange, curious look before casting off his jacket and slipping on the sweater over his t-shirt. It’s a little small on him, fitting him in all the right places in Obi-wan’s opinion, but sleeves ending a few inches above his wrist. It’s rather adorable, really. 

“Better?” Obi-wan asks, ignoring the warm tendrils of possessiveness weaving into his chest at the sight. 

Anakin, considerably more red than before, nods. “Thank you.” His tone, usually full of sarcasm and humor, is uncharacteristically sincere. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you keep it, so do return it next time you visit. And please don’t wipe any snot on it, cashmere is hard to wash,” Obi-wan jokes, “but yes, you’re welcome.” 

Anakin’s eyes widen a little. He grabs a tissue. 

Obi-wan takes a deep breath, shifting his focus back to the paper. “As I was saying, let’s move this thought.” 

The rain eventually passes, clouds bumbling away to reveal a vast array of stars, moonlight tinting the small office as the pair edits the long paper well past midnight. As the hours tick by, Anakin sneezes about the same number of times as Obi-wan yawns, exhaustion making the finer details of their evening fuzzy. The walls seem to close in on them, pressing them together, and the outside world is so far away, asleep, resting. Anakin continues to shiver, and Obi-wan gets up to rest his jacket around Anakin’s shoulders at some point, promising that they’ll finish soon so he can go home and rest.  _ I don’t mind,  _ Anakin says,  _ I like being here with you.  _ Obi-wan entirely blames the sentiment on Anakin’s fever, but in his tired, yearning state, something akin to hope blooms in his heart. 

__

Anakin, naturally, receives an A on his paper. Obi-wan regards the email with fond amusement. 

_ “hey prof - got a 97%!! go us. have been taking it easy at home, doc says i have the flu :(  _

_ ur never getting ur sweater back, btw. its so soft _

_ thanks again for your help, ur fav anakin” _


	2. Chapter 2

It was now the end of the week, and Obi-Wan sat at his desk, scrolling through his emails. The sun was lower in the sky, telling that soon evening would be here, despite the fact that it was only just past four in the afternoon. 

The windows of his office were closed, but he could still feel a chill coming through. The weather for the entire week had been cold and wet, teetering on snowing, and then would be just warm enough to rain during the day. Only for it to freeze over at night. 

And while the weather annoyed him, it didn’t concern him. What concerned him was ever since that last email from Anakin, he hadn’t heard anything from him. And while part of him was saying that this was because he wanted his sweater back, another larger part of him could not deny the concern that had slowly beginning to build as the week progressed, and he still heard nothing. 

He knew that the flu was nothing to joke about, and there had been a particularly bad strain that was circulating around the campus, causing several of his own students to end up in the hospital. 

He refreshed his email, doing the best to put the thought of Anakin in the hospital out of his mind. 

And his eyes widened when he saw a new email in his inbox- not from another student trying to explain why their paper was late, but it was from Anakin, who for the first time in four days, had responded. 

He quickly opened the email, clicking on it several times and trying to ignore the way his heart seemed to beat a little faster in his chest as he did so. 

‘Sorry for not responding sooner, I’m still pretty sick’ It began, and Obi-Wan immediately felt his heart sink into his chest, the guilt slowly building up from even asking Anakin when he could meet up to get his sweater back. 

‘I think I’ll be feeling well enough tomorrow if you want to stop by my place and pick it up? I probably shouldn’t be going out.’ Anakin suggested, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile here. Anakin was a selfless person, almost to a fault most of the time, and while at times it was frustrating, it was also at other times endearing. And this was one of those times. 

‘Here’s my address, and my number. Text me when you’re outside!’ And that was the end of it. Obi-Wan stared at the numbers on the bottom of the screen, blinking several times. 

And while he had intended to ask Anakin for his personal contact information at some point, he didn’t intend to get it like this. And while he wasn’t upset at the fact that this was how he got it, he was concerned that perhaps Anakin felt pressured to return the sweater. As far as Obi-Wan was concerned, Anakin could keep it for as long as he liked, especially if he was still as sick as he was saying. 

But he also had to consider that Anakin probably would not see and respond to another email in time for Obi-Wan to tell him that it was more than alright that he keep the sweater until he felt better. That he didn’t mind at all, and that he was happy that Anakin was getting some use out of it. 

His eyes scanned over the phone number at the bottom of the screen again, before slowly pulling out his phone and entering it as a new contact. 

It felt strange. 

On the surface, there was nothing strange about what he was doing, but it felt strange in his heart, and he didn’t want to think about why. Not yet, at least. 

But it was now the next day, and Obi-Wan found himself staring down at a map on his phone, the destination being Anakin’s apartment building. It was close to the campus, and located where he knew a lot of students lived. There were also professors that lived in the nearby neighborhood, and so it was a place that Obi-Wan was familiar with. 

The building was only a ten minute drive from where he currently was, which was not his own residence, but a convenience store. He had told himself, that if Anakin was going through all of this trouble to return the sweater despite still clearly being unwell, the least he could do was show up with something nice in return. 

Which is how he found himself purchasing some cold and flu medicine, and a box of tea that he was surprised that they carried, but knew that he always enjoyed drinking when he felt unwell. 

Grabbing the bag that the cashier placed them in, Obi-Wan quickly walked back out of the store and continued on his way.  
‘I’m outside.’ Obi-Wan typed out but then deleted it. He didn’t want to be too blunt, be he also didn’t want to appear vague. He looked down at the empty message bubble and sighed, watching as his breath turned into a cloud of vapor in front of his face. 

‘Hello Anakin, It’s Obi-Wan, and I am outside of your building.’ Was that too formal? 

He hit send.

It was probably too formal. Obi-Wan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

He stood out in the cold, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying his best to not worry too much. People came and went into and out of the building, but there was no sight of Anakin. 

And when there was, Obi-Wan felt a mix of emotions. 

First was the initial rush of seeing Anakin that always happened, which was quickly replaced by a frown as he noticed that if anything, Anakin looked worse now than he had at the beginning of the week. He had traded in his thin hoodie for a thicker one, and had the hood pulled over his head. Jeans were replaced by thicker lounge pants, but he was still wearing the same sneakers that he had worn when Obi-Wan last saw him. 

Bundled under one arm was the sweater that Obi-Wan had lent him, and the other arm had been brought up towards his face as he coughed harshly into his elbow. 

“Sorry this took so-” Anakin began, his voice raspy as he opened the door for Obi-Wan to walk inside. 

“You can keep it.” Obi-Wan found himself saying before he had the chance to think of anything else. 

“What?” Anakin asked, his voice cracking. He turned aside to cough again before facing Obi-Wan. 

“You need it more than I do,” Obi-Wan pointed out, trying to stay as cool and collected as possible. 

Anakin blinked at him several times before running a hand over his face. 

“I thought you said you wanted it back?” He asked again before turning away to sneeze. 

“I did, but had I known that you were still this sick earlier, I wouldn’t have bothered.” Obi-Wan replied with a shrug. 

“But... you wanted it back?” Anakin asked again, narrowing his eyes and now Obi-Wan didn’t know if he should laugh or if he should be concerned. 

“You seem a little mixed up right now, Anakin.” Obi-Wan noted as he rested a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. 

He could feel how Anakin was both trembling and radiating too much heat at the same time. They both stared at each other for a moment, before Obi-Wan let go of Anakin, handing him the bag that was in his other hand. 

“And you sound like you could use what’s in here,” Obi-Wan said as Anakin took the bag and opened it. 

“You didn’t have to get me all of this,” Anakin whispered hoarsely, looking down at the contents of the bag. 

“On the contrary, Anakin you sound horrible.” Obi-Wan replied. “And I have had several students already end up in the hospital because of this strain of the flu, so I do in fact, think that you needed at least something.” 

“Thanks,” Anakin whispered, looking back up at Obi-Wan and smiling softly. But the moment was ruined when Anakin turned away to cough again, and Obi-Wan winced at how it sounded. 

“Alright, I think it’s time you head back to bed.” Obi-Wan said after Anakin was done. 

Anakin rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. “Thanks again,” He said softly, crossing his arms over his torso as the door behind them opened, letting in more cold air. 

“Think nothing of it, I just want you to get better,” Obi-Wan replied while waving his hand. 

“I’ll see you next week?” Anakin asked as Obi-Wan turned to leave. 

“Only if you’re well enough to be back, otherwise I will not hesitate to have you go home, as much as I enjoy your company.” 

“You enjoy my company?” Anakin asked while sniffling several times. 

“Yes, and as much as I’d love to stay and talk, I can see that you’re shivering, and should probably be back in bed.” Obi-wan pointed out. 

“But can we talk later?” Anakin asked, his tone cautious but hopeful. 

“When you’re better, we can talk.” Obi-Wan replied, before turning to leave again, feeling the cold winter air contrast the burning of his cheeks. 

What was he thinking?


	3. Chapter 3

The email he had been anxiously awaiting for dings his phone, and in the early morning light of his room, only a single lamp to illuminate the intimate space, he rolls over in bed to fumble it from the nightstand, blinking at the bright screen. 

To the University of Washington community, 

For the safety of our students and staff, classes have been cancelled for the day due to the snow conditions and road closures. Please wait for updates from your teachers on how best to proceed with assignments and exams. Updates on future cancellations will be issued nightly no later than 7 pm. Best, 

President Palpatine 

The same giddy relief that once met him as a college student still worms its way into his heart as a professor, an unexpected day off, no plans ahead of him, just hours and hours of free time. Except, he supposes, a quick email out to his students to continue their essays as normal and wait for the update on Friday’s class. He isn’t sad about losing the day’s lesson plan, it had mostly been a filler class. 

He hums lazily, a sleepy grin pulling his lips back. 

For the first time in weeks, he clicks the lock button and rolls over, stuffing his face into his pillow, and falls back asleep. 

___

Hours later, the sun already cresting in the sky, hidden behind layers and layers of clouds shedding snow, he pads around his kitchen, pulling ingredients out of his fridge and pantry: carrots, chicken, celery, chicken broth, some garlic, an onion, and some noodles. 

When he was younger, his mom had always whipped together chicken noodle soup on the colder days, and when she passed away when he was a teenager, he kept the tradition alive. In the silent, airy space of the kitchen, he feels closer to her cutting up the ingredients and carefully dropping them into the pot, can feel her gentle hand guiding him. The ache of her death has long since passed, but Obi-wan can’t help but wish she were here with him, oiling the stove for the chicken and passing him the garlic to press. 

Somehow, in the many, many years since her death, the habit of cooking for two hasn’t left him; every time he makes this recipe, he ends up with days worth of leftovers. 

The wood floor is cold beneath his bare feet; he didn’t think to put warm clothing on before coming downstairs, head still foggy from sleeping past noon. He knows his hair is sticking out in every direction, and that he could probably use a quick beard trim, but there isn’t anyone to judge him here. No pets, no roommates, just him and his big empty house. 

The smell of the soup bubbles up at him: rich and inviting. He takes a spoon and sips on the broth, using his teeth to grab a very hot carrot that mashes easily in his mouth, a good sign that he can turn the heat down to let it simmer while he gets ready for the day. Some small part of him knows his destination, but the majority of him is still in denial. He has so much soup to share, though. Why let it go to waste? Besides, it’ll be a quick drop off so he can come home and finish the blanket he’s knitting, maybe read a few chapters of his library books. There’s something about an expected day off that makes the mundane feel enthralling. 

He pads back upstairs, lost in thought as he goes through the motions of pulling a sturdy wool sweater over his head, brushing his teeth, combing his hair back, ignoring the shoddy state of his beard. Anakin had looked so horrible the other day, all pale skin and hollowed out eyes, his voice catching on itself, and god, his cough. Worry pangs Obi-wan’s heart, did Anakin have anyone to take care of him? Make sure he doesn’t die of a fever? He can’t go out in this weather to get take-out, and there’s no way he would be cooking with the state he’s in. 

In the back of his head, Obi-wan knows there are very large excuses he’s making for the car crash of the truth: he wants to go see Anakin. 

When he gets back downstairs, the soup is perfect. His mom would be proud.  
___

Snow cakes the road ahead of him, and what should have been a ten minute drive turns into a forty minute one. Obi-wan thinks he has at least six different knots in his back and neck from sitting so close to the steering wheel the entire time, peering intently through the fast-paced windshield wipers as if the effort of looking harder would have any effect on his ability to see in front of him. When he finally pulls up in front of Anakin’s apartment building and finds a neat little spot to back his car into, he lets out a deep breath and slumps into his seat. Maybe this was not as good of an idea as he had hoped it would be. 

He hadn’t even texted. Should he text Anakin? Is showing up at his door, soup in hand, too much? Too forward? Obi-wan is already anxious about pushing the bounds of their relationship too far; what if Anakin thought he was trying to groom him, thought he was a creepy old man with nothing better to do?

Obi-wan hits his head against the steering wheel. 

The weird thing is, he doesn’t mind how inappropriate their relationship had become. Obi-wan had liked coming to his building, liked texting him about casual plans. He just worries his enthusiasm is one-sided. 

It’s been so long since he’s had anything resembling a relationship, so he feels brand new to it again; it’s like riding a bike: the skill will never leave you, but if you take a ten year gap, you might need to wobble a bit before you glide. Obi-wan is wobbling. 

Because he does have a crush, doesn’t he? Isn’t that why he’s here, sitting in his cooling car with homemade soup, outside of some boy’s apartment building? Why else would he go to such measures- especially on his day off? God, he feels so juvenile. 

He hits his head on the steering wheel again. 

The cold is starting to seep through the seams of the car, so he takes a deep breath, grabs his soup, and steps out into the snow. It crunches underneath his boots, leaving a trail of footprints all the way to the door of the building, which swings open easily for Obi-wan. 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. Anakin had texted which one he lived in, but it had felt too… like too much, last time he came. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on Anakin’s personal space.

#344. 

The elevator ride is both too short and too fast, his anxiety rising with each floor. What if Anakin didn’t like chicken noodle soup? He definitely should’ve texted. But the doors glide open and the wide expanse of the hall looms in front of him, stretching for what seems like forever in both directions. The floorplan seems to be circular; a little guide that reads “301-322 left, 323-344 right” with arrows points him in the right direction, so he sets off to the right, each step waking up a new butterfly in his stomach. 

When he reaches 344, he stares at the door for a moment, considering the fact that Anakin is on the other side of the thin wall, completely unaware of Obi-wan. Something yanks at him to turn back, but Obi-wan would feel even more pathetic if he went home with a full bowl of soup, and Anakin does probably need it, so. Here goes nothing. 

The bell ding-dongs from the interior, the sound muffled. Obi-wan hears nothing, and then slow footsteps and a lock being unlatched. 

Anakin is wearing his sweater. 

“Obi-w- Professor Kenobi, hey,” Anakin rasps out, eyes wide open, clearly startled, and sounding a bit better than he had a few days ago, but not by much. His bangs are held back by a little clip, shooting a tuft of hair straight into the air. “Sorry if I missed your text, I’ve been asleep-” 

“Ah,” Obi-wan shuffles in place, embarrassed. “I didn’t text, which I realize now that I should have, but-”

“No,” Anakin cuts in, “that’s okay.” 

They stand there in awkward silence before Anakin points at the bowl Obi-wan is clutching to his chest. 

“You brought soup?” 

Obi-wan looks down to the container like he’s never seen it before, cheeks burning like lava. “Yes! I, well, you see my mother and I always made soup when it snowed, and I always make extra, so I thought you’d, well,” he chances a peek at Anakin, whose features are slackened in a soft smile, “I thought you could use some given that you’re sick and it’s snowing.” 

“Have you eaten yet?” Anakin asks, ignoring his bumbling explanation. 

“No,” he thinks back, “I didn’t get the chance.”

Anakin drags his door open and steps back, gesturing for Obi-wan to come inside. “Let’s share, then.” 

Obi-wan balks at the open door, because he knows once he crosses that threshold there is no going back between them. He’d have officially been in Anakin’s apartment, sharing homemade soup with Anakin, taking care of him while he’s sick. The intimacy of seeing how someone lives, to see all the details of their existence on display, who they are when no one else is around… that sort of intimacy frightens Obi-wan. 

“I don’t want to be an imposition,” he starts, only to get cut off by a particularly nasty sneeze from Anakin. “Bless you.”

“You’re not, so come on.” Anakin reaches forward and tugs on his arm, and really, Obi-wan has no choice. 

While he had never actively imagined Anakin’s living space, he had always assumed it would be something akin to a sparse bachelor pad, dirty and meant for college students who couldn’t afford any better. But this is a pleasant surprise: a black rug and couch sits neatly against the wall of a tidy and cozy living room, branching off to a kitchen and a door Obi-wan assumes is Anakin’s bedroom. There are a few mirrors behind the couch, and a few (fake?) plants spotted around the room, even a candle on the coffee table. 

Anakin leads him into the kitchen and Obi-wan sees now this is where the mess lies; computer parts, nuts, bolts, tools, and loose wires scatter the counter, leaving little room for anything else save the sink and a hand towel. He stands there and waits for Anakin to clear a space for the bowl, muttering about how he didn’t know company would be over otherwise he would’ve picked up a little. 

Obi-wan doesn’t know if he even wants to ask what Anakin is making. 

The bowl is transferred into the microwave, cooking for a few minutes on low to properly reheat, and Obi-wan sets out to find some spoons so he’s not left in awkward, still silence. 

“Sorry there’s no table, I never really have anyone over and it takes up so much space, so,” Anakin is blushing, either embarrassed to have someone over or still running a fever. Maybe a bit of both. “Oh, here, in that drawer,” he motions to Obi-wan, crowding into his space to pull open the drawer. Obi-wan stiffens at their proximity; he can feel the heat pouring off of Anakin, and he grips the spoons like his life depends on it. 

They perch by the counter, listening to the hum of the microwave. 

“What are you doing during winter break?” Anakin asks him, breaking the quiet. 

Obi-wan breaths in, thinking of his answer. “I’m not sure, probably just relax. Maybe work on my library books, plan for winter quarter.” 

Anakin scoffs, and it turns into a full blown hacking spree. When he’s done, he winces. “Sorry, your plans are so sad my whole body freaked out.” 

He snorts. “My plans aren’t sad. What are you doing, then?” 

“Well, now that I’ve graduated, I suppose I should be looking for a job, so probably that.” Anakin stares up at the soup rotating in the microwave in contemplation. 

Something small and sad tugs at Obi-wan’s heart. He had forgotten that Anakin wouldn’t be around anymore. No more impromptu office visits. 

“But,” Anakin continues, “it would be nice to have help with my resume and interviewing.” He glances at Obi-wan out of the corner of his eyes. 

The microwave beeps: the soup is finished reheating. 

“Of course, I’d be happy to help.” Obi-wan says, warmth flooding his tone. He’s grateful that Anakin still wants him in his life, still wants his help. 

Anakin sniffles and splits the soup into two bowls, handing one to Obi-wan, who is still holding both their spoons. 

“You wanna watch something? We can sit on the couch.” Anakin says, and motions for Obi-wan to follow. Obi-wan tentatively settles into the couch, which is surprisingly cushy, as Anakin flips open Netflix and pulls up The Great British Baking Show. 

“Is this okay? It’s kind of addictive.” Anakin looks suddenly self-conscious about his choice in television, grabbing a set of glasses from his coffee table. They are way too big for him and nearly slide down his nose in seconds. Obi-wan might combust. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” 

Anakin shifts. “Only to see long distances, I mostly just use them for watching things.” 

Obi-wan nods at that, and throws a hand up in the air towards the TV screen. “This is fine, I like cooking shows.” 

“They’re definitely my guilty pleasure, I’ve always wished I was better at cooking.” Anakin blows on the soup on his spoon, eyes glued to the TV.

The hosts introduce the challenge, and Obi-wan looks down at his soup, stirring it all absentmindedly. “I can teach you, if you want. My mom passed a lot onto me before she, well.” Obi-wan smiles at him. “I’d like to think I’m a pretty good cook.” 

Anakin pushes his glasses back on his face. “If the soup is anything to go by, I believe you.” 

He chuckles, shifting his attention back to the TV. Helping Anakin find a job, teaching him how to cook- they’re both just trying to find excuses to stay in each other’s lives. It’d be endearing if it weren’t so sad. 

The episode drags out, a winner is named and someone gets sent home, and Anakin and Obi-wan are long finished with their soup, the bowls having been discarded onto the coffee table a while ago. When the credits roll, neither of them get up, and the next episode autoplays. Obi-wan hopes he isn’t overstaying his visit, but Anakin seems comfortable and relaxed. Anakin offers him a blanket, and Obi-wan drapes it over his lower body, slouching further into the couch. 

Over the next few hour long episodes, they seem to inch closer, fully lounging now. Jokes are made, laughter is shared, and Obi-wan keeps handing him tissues, grateful that he isn’t wiping his snot on the sweater’s sleeve. 

He still can’t believe he’s sitting here on Anakin’s couch, watching a cooking show, while Anakin sits next to him wearing one of his sweaters. 

Maybe he is the one with a delirious fever? 

The fourth episode draws to a close, and Obi-wan spares a glance at one of the windows, where the afternoon had faded into evening. “I still don’t think she should have won, did you see the state of her frosting?” He stands up and stretches, sighing in relief when a few of his bones pop, laughing when Anakin’s do the same. “I should probably get going, though, it’s getting dark.” 

But when the pair make it to the window, they are greeted by glistening white, snow almost completely covering the cars parked outside. There’s no way he can drive home in this, and they both know it. The air seems to thicken between them. 

“Hey, you can crash on the couch and drive home once the snowplow has been through?” Anakin, though standing right next to him, seems miles away, his tone small and unsure. 

“Surely not, you’ve already let me stay long as it is. I’ll…” he trails off, thinking. 

“What, walk home?” Anakin supplies, shaking his head. “Absolutely not, you can stay. I don’t mind,” he places a hand on Obi-wan’s arm, “really.” 

“You’re right, I don’t have much of a choice.” Obi-wan laughs under his breath. Still, if he did have the choice, he’d want to stay. Not that he’d ever admit that to Anakin. 

Anakin takes the few steps back to the couch, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around himself like a cape. “Well, should we finish the season then?” 

_____

It’s midnight by the time the pair is too tired to stay awake, drifting off into separate spaces. 

“Can I borrow something to sleep in?” Obi-wan asks Anakin, who is standing in the doorway to his room. From what Obi-wan can see, it looks a lot like the living room, all blacks and soft fabrics. 

Anakin’s eyes widen. “Uh, yes. Hold on.” He disappears into his room and comes back with a blue flannel pajama set. “Here, the bathroom is just across the kitchen.” 

Obi-wan takes the little pile of clothing from him with a soft thanks and retreats to the bathroom to change. The pants are entirely too long on him, and the shirt hangs on him, clearly meant for someone who has a little broader shoulders. But the set smells like Anakin, and Obi-wan wants to breathe it in forever. 

When he comes out, Anakin bites back a smile, holding his lower lip between his teeth. He doesn’t say anything though, and Obi-wan is both disappointed and relieved. 

“So there’s a bunch of blankets on the couch for you, let me know if you need anything else.” He says, backing into his room. 

Obi-wan clears his throat. “Of course. Goodnight, Anakin.” 

Anakin dips his head and closes his door. “Goodnight.”

In the dark of the living room, Obi-wan shakes the blankets out so they lay flat over the couch, and slips his legs under them to get comfortable, laying on back to stare at the ceiling. 

What a day. 

If someone had told him this was what his snow day would’ve looked like, he would’ve laughed in their face. Just under two weeks ago, they had been huddled together in his office, working on Anakin’s paper like normal. And now, he’s spending the night at Anakin’s apartment. And while Anakin technically isn’t a student anymore, and certainly not his student any more by a long shot, there’s still a sticky and uncomfortable unease sitting in his gut; he doesn’t know how old Anakin is, but Obi-wan is surely much older than him. Plus, he doesn’t know if there’s a power play at hand, what if Anakin just thinks he’s being a creepy old man and feels obligated to let him stay? 

But he thinks about the way Anakin’s flashed with happiness when Obi-wan laughed at one of his jokes during the show, the way they inched towards each other, Anakin’s face when Obi-wan came out of the bathroom in his pajamas. 

Needless to say, Obi-wan doesn’t get much sleep. Instead, he thinks about the fact that Anakin is also lying down, just a thin apartment wall in between them, and watches the large snowflakes drift down in silent waves outside. 

Obi-wan wonders if Anakin is sleeping in his sweater. He hopes he is.


End file.
